Eulogy for a Rower

(Photo credit: Row2k.com)

For the past several weeks I’ve dreaded receiving an email from my rowing club with “Alan Fischer” in the subject line. It was six years ago that he had been diagnosed with cancer. I don’t think Alan had even turned fifty when he got the news.

But somehow I hoped this wonderfully smart, kind, athletic and thoroughly decent man would beat his illness. Out of respect for his privacy, I never sent him a note or told him that he was in my thoughts and prayers.

More than a year after Alan had been diagnosed, I admired his courage -- learning that he had been rowing with a chemo pack on his back. I also worried because I knew this meant his cancer was not yet under control.

Last fall brought bittersweet scenes of Alan out on the Charles. Two of his dear friends and rowing partners, Larry and Allison, were out in a canoe on late Sunday afternoons. As I passed them in my rowing shell, I noticed a man in a life jacket sitting in the middle seat. I assumed he was the parent of one of them.

When they shouted across the river to announce Alan with was with them, I was stunned. Having lived through my first husband’s bout with cancer, and seen how the disease accelerates the aging process, I didn’t want to believe that Alan might be in the autumn of his life. On the other hand, knowing how much he loved the Charles, I was glad that he could see it at its most beautiful – mirroring red, orange and yellow leaves.

In late December, I was at a meeting at the boathouse. Telephone research assignments were handed out, and I volunteered to call Alan.

He had been given between two weeks and two months to live. Because of the complexity of his medical needs, he could no longer be at home with his family, and was in a palliative care facility.

When I reached Alan on his cell phone, we had a warm conversation that would have given me no indication how ill he was – except that he used the word “precarious” when referencing his condition. We spoke for a few minutes on how things were going on the club’s board, and what suggestions he had for people willing to commit time to the club.

Ostensibly I called Alan on official rowing club business. But my real reason for volunteering to make the call was that I wanted to thank him for having been so kind to me over the years.

In typical Alan fashion, he had no recollection of three really sweet deeds I remember in vivid detail:

(1) The boathouse, under construction to add more boat bays, was jacked up on temporary supports. Overhearing my lament that I wished I could row with my own oars – instead of the club oars that were too big for my hands – Alan offered to climb up a ladder on the side of the building to retrieve them. He had such a nice way about him that a member of the construction crew put up a ramp to make Alan’s task easier.

(2) One day Alan asked me how I liked the new electronic logbook. Presumably he had been part of the group designing a state of the art system for determining how many miles each rower logged, and which boats were being used. I responded that I had never used a laptop, which was part of the new system. The next time I came down to row, Alan had added a mouse to the laptop, making it user-friendly for people like me.

(3) It was race day for the Head of the Charles Regatta, but I suspected that Alan wasn’t feeling well enough to race. Despite a torrential downpour, he was working the dock. Sensing my nervousness as I launched, Alan instructed me to fold the paper cup I had for bailing and wedge it between my seat and the side of my boat. The epitome of kindness and patience, he offered to steady my boat for as long as it took me to get myself comfortable.

Alan died earlier this week, and a lot of us have been hit hard by this loss. Still I’ll try to remember what he told me when last we spoke – that having been blessed with such a loving wife and two terrific daughters he could say that life had been good to him. Though this is a very difficult time for them, I hope life ultimately allows them to savor the memories, and feel lucky for having had him as husband and father.